


Where We Left Off

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In another life, John and Sherlock were exactly the same. AKA John is moony eyed and Sherlock is still kind of a prick.





	

It’s not that John wasn’t doing his best to make friends, no, that wasn’t true. John definitely wasn’t doing his best to make friends, but he kind of had a lot going on at the moment. There wasn’t a lot of free time in between his job at Starbucks, his pre med major, being the youngest captain of the rugby team, and making sure his twin sister didn’t fail out in her second year. In fact if it weren’t for Harry’s insistence that he “would like a party, if he could actually bring his boring arse to go to one.” and his fellow pre med friend Molly’s slightly more polite suggestion that perhaps he could use a night out, he wouldn’t even be here.  
Her wheedling him into this Halloween party had been a study in his own resistance really, she had started her persuasion gently and in August, with hints like “You know that Victor Trevor’s party will be the Halloween bash.” and “Come on, he’ll already expect you to be there, he’s on the rugby team, yeah?”, but then as the date got closer turned to “John, if you’re going to be the least social person here all year, you need to tell me now, so I can arrange other rides home.” and “I’m going to stop pretending I don’t see you make yourself extra drinks when you work the late shift.”. John wasn’t going to confirm that it was that last line that got him, but it was definitely one of the deciding factors. In the end he lasted until a week before the party when finally he caved.  
“Alright, Molly.” John sighed, “But I’m not organizing my own costume, if you want me dressed up you’re going to have to do it yourself.” almost as soon as the words were out, he regretted it, John could swear he saw her scheming behind her wire framed, only-when-nobody-else-is-around glasses. “I’m not going as anything stupid though.”  
Molly was already pulling out a scrunchie and her laptop. “Okay then Johnny-boy, what do you want to be.”

 

It was fairly clear to everyone who had ever met Sherlock, that he was actively trying not to make friends. In his first year he had been downright belligerent to anyone who hadn’t quite managed not to come in contact with him, even the professors whose classes in which he was receiving high marks, didn’t have much of a nice word to say about Sherlock Holmes. By the end of the year he went home for the summer fully intending on never going back, however a summer of overly smug Mycroft, was not one he ever wanted to live through again.  
Mycroft, or as Sherlock had taken to calling him, Mycrotch, was full of little quips meant to get Sherlock riled up. As if he could sense that Sherlock in no way wished to return to his schooling, this summer was full of, “Honestly Sherlock, no one really expected you to even last a year of school.” and “Sherlock, is there a reason that Aunt Meredith seems to think that you’ve dropped out and are addicted to cocaine?” and there was no way that Mycrotch could be allowed to think that he was right about anything, especially if it was to do with one of Sherlock’s supposed failings, even if he had done some drugs at the end of last year. And so he returned to school as if he never intended differently, even if he was slightly more determined to finish this all through this time.

What Sherlock found, in his slightly rosier view of life his second year of school was that if unprovoked, and handled passively, nobody really gave a second look; though he still only really managed to keep two friendships going longer than a week.  
Molly who was a little meek, a little boring, and had a horribly inconvenient crush on him, and Irene who was a transfer and had no idea of his attitude last year. It really was a shame about Molly though, if not for her assumption that any time they spent alone was a step closer to a relationship, she would be a wonderful way to access the labs and bodies donated to science that only the pre med students had access to. Fortunately, key cards were easy enough to filch, and eventually he was able to get to the “it’s not really a morgue, Sherlock” morgue on his own time. 

 

Sherlock’s newfound social butterfly status did not mean however, that he would be attending any parties, particularly, not the costume party of Victor “who-is-selling-drugs-to-pay-for-school-trust-me-I-would-know” Trevor, who he hadn’t had the displeasure of seeing since he proposed sex as a currency for the cocaine, that Sherlock couldn’t have Mycrotch know he was using. Sherlock wasn’t one to hold a grudge, but actually, yes he was, and he was only barely keeping it from Molly, that Victor was selling to their physics teacher, possibly for sex; who would see it as inexcusable, and probably tell the Dean.  
So Sherlock was decidedly not going to the party, (“and you can’t make me Irene. You have nothing that scares me.”) but then Molly offered to stay in the dorms with him and watch movies instead, and suddenly he was going to the party. As soon as he said as much both Irene and Molly were bouncing off the walls with excitement.  
Irene smirked “And what is your costume then, you great brain.” she said almost jeering. “You can’t show up at the Halloween party of the year without a costume.”  
Molly laughed. “He hardly needs a costume!” Molly was grinning so big that Sherlock couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows. “Just get the kid a deerstalker and her can be his namesake.”  
Sherlock was instantly frowning. “No, no way. I am not wearing a deerstalker to a party.”  
“Sherlooock,” Irene whined, hanging her head upside down off his bed. “It’s like the easiest costume ever, all you have to do is wear a hat and that bloody coat you insist on having, anyway.”  
“I’d rather not.”  
“Sherlock, come on, do you have an easier costume idea.” Molly was trying to appeal to the side of Sherlock that was saying that even going to the party was too much effort, never mind figuring out a outfit.  
Sherlock leaned back in his desk chair and covered his eyes. “If I’m doing this I have some conditions.”  
Molly squealed.  
“Under no circumstances am I talking to Trevor, and somebody else is buying my coffee for the next week.”  
Irene was on her feet and at the door “Done, and done. Molly, we have some shopping to do. Where in this city to you propose we find a deerstalker?”

 

It was the day of the party when Molly finally told John what his costume was, and he was bloody furious. “Molly, there is no universe in which I would wear this perversion of a family unit as a halloween costume.”  
“John, you’re being melodramatic. It’s not a perversion of anything. I’m the baby, and Irene is the mother and all you have to do is wear your tan sweater and be the father.”  
“Right, so you’re telling me that there’s nothing weird about this when I know for a fact that Irene wants to snog your brains out. Sure. And I’m the queen of Sheba.”  
“Queen of fucking drama that’s for damn sure.”  
John knew that he was meant to hear Molly’s mumbling but he called her out anyway. “What was that?”  
“John, we’re just friends and it's a funny group costume. You get to wear that awful sweater to a party, I thought you’d be pleased.”  
He knew that Molly didn’t understand his reasons for trying to avoid anything to do with dads, especially his own, and she meant well, he supposed. “Fine, but if I’m not with you at any point during the party, I am not telling someone that that’s what I’m supposed to be. I’ll tell them, oh I don’t know, that I’m the color beige or something.”  
“Like I care what you do when I’m not around, you’re an absolute doll, John Watson! I have to tell Irene, she didn’t think you’d say yes.”  
John snorted as Molly ran from the room. “Wonder why.”

 

As they walked up to the party John was still slightly miffed about his costume. “Why are we even doing this group thing if we’re not going together?”  
Molly swatted his arm. “Shut up, she had to give her lab partner a ride.  
“And that’s more important than showing up with us.”  
“If it means getting him out of his room, then yes.”  
John rolled his eyes.

 

“I want you to know,” Sherlock started, “that were this anyone else threatening to kidnap me, I’d probably knock them out.” he said as Irene dragged him up the cement steps to Victor’s house.  
“So glad that there’s a special Irene stipulation to your knock out clause. Now come on already. We’re fashionably late as it is. Molly’s going to kill me.”  
“And we just couldn’t have your girlfriend mad at you, not on an occasion such as this!” with far too much mirth to be serious.  
“She’s not my girlfriend, she doesn’t even like girls.”  
“Of course she doesn’t Irene. Of course she doesn’t.”

 

It didn’t take more than twenty minutes for Molly to ditch John. She handed him a cup of something that he wouldn’t be drinking, and told him she was going to look for Irene. For the first couple of minutes he watched, slightly bored, as his classmates pretended what they were doing was dancing to the overly loud music that was playing. He was just starting to look for a house plant to dump his drink into when Victor noticed him and stumbled over.  
“JOOOOHHN WASH-TON” He yelled, already noticeably intoxicated. He flailed an arm over John’s shoulder and his head knocked against John’s uncomfortably. “HOW ‘RE YA LIKIN’ THE PARTY?” Victor’s drink sloshed against the side of his cup, just close enough that John could tell his favorite sweater would smell like cheap beer.  
John removed Victor’s arm from over him and leaned away from the smell coming from his friend’s mouth.”It’s great Trevor, love the decorations.” He pointed to the one plastic pumpkin in the house. “Very festive.”  
"THNKS JOOHN, WERKED HARD ONIT” Victor was past the point where he would catch on to John’s sarcasm and John had no desire to hold his cup while he puked in what John would guess to be less than half an hour.  
“Right, sure mate. I gotta go.” John slipped out of Trevor’s reach and made to lose him in the crowd. Luckily for him, Victor wasn’t going anywhere fast.  
“SEE YA AT PRACTISH JOHHN!”  
John did nothing but wave as he made a beeline for the stairs. It was only about half an hour into the party, there should be somewhere upstairs that wasn’t already occupied by his overly horny classmates. John was seriously considering never letting Molly bring him to anything ever again. He wasn’t even going to get coffee with her, he’s just make her bring him some back or get it himself, nothing was worth this.  
He opened the first door on the landing, only to quickly close it as he saw slightly more of his roommate from last year than he ever wanted. He could hear crying from the second door, and as much as he didn’t like to leave someone in emotional distress, he had enough problems of his own right now. The third door seemed quiet enough, and besides it was slightly ajar, so he pushed it open.  
“If you intend on having intercourse please go elsewhere.”  
John snorted at the figure sitting cross legged on the bed. “If I intended on having intercourse I would sure as hell go somewhere that didn’t smell like marijuana and booze.”  
The person on the bed looked up at him from under a deerstalker hat. And hummed.  
John laughed, “You must be Sherlock Holmes,” he extended his hand with a joking air. “I just so happen to be John Watson.”  
The man on the bed rolled his eyes and didn’t take the hand. “Haha, very funny. Though I’m not quite sure how you ascertained who I am, as I have no recollection of a prior meeting; I must say it’s rather unoriginal.”  
“Mate, you’re wearing the Sherlock Holmes hat, I’m not sure how it could be more obvious.” For some reason John felt the need to defend himself in front of this man. He was all cheekbones and vocabulary, and although he wasn’t standing up, John had the feeling he’d be dwarfed next to anyone with legs that long.  
“Oh, of course.” Sherlock had forgotten for a moment that he was wearing it, and had been of the illusion that someone was like him. “Well I’ll be going then.” He shoved his phone in his pocket and stretched his legs out to stand up.  
“Oh, god, I’m sorry, I’ll leave you were here first,” John was stumbling over himself to get to the door before the stranger did. “I was just looking for somewhere to read, I can do it anywhere, no big deal, I’ll just-” He reached behind him for the door handle without looking and turned redder when he missed it. He laughed nervously when a second time his hand came down over nothing.  
“I mean if you’re just going to read, you can stay.” The man on the bed said as if it would help John’s discomfort. “That’s what I was doing anyway, might as well only use one room.”  
John wanted to evaporate from embarrassment. Anything to make this situation less awkward. “Great.” He perched on the very edge of the office chair in the room and got out his phone, cursing his own awkwardness the whole time. 

 

By the time the party ended, there were rumors going around about “John Watson, captain of the rugby team, did ‘ja hear he disappeared upstairs for hours?” When John met Molly at the door to drive her back to their dorms, even she was in the loop.  
“Johnny-boy, who’s the girl?”  
“No girl, just peace and quiet. Just found an almost unoccupied room and read the notes for the psych final again.”  
Molly laughed and reached slid into the passenger seat of her car. “Almost? What, the sex was just quiet enough?”  
“No,” John said starting to giggle along with his intoxicated friend. “Some bloke was up there doing the same as me.”  
“You made a friend Johnny-boy!” Molly tried to stretch her arms around him as he was driving, but John easily evaded her bumbling drunk arms.  
“Shut up, Molly. Go to sleep.”  
“Hey, John.”  
“Yeah, Molly.”  
“I think you’re my best friend.”  
“Love you too, Molly. Go to sleep.”

 

There were several reasons that there were no rumors of a similar nature going around about Sherlock. For one, he was fairly unknown, with two, being that most who did know him, didn’t look for him anywhere, especially a party; and three, really it wasn’t that odd for Sherlock to vanish into thin air.  
It seemed that the only person to notice at all was Irene, (well, and Victor Trevor, but there gets to be a point when someone’s vileness cancels out their claim to humanity. Plus he was just looking to sell to Sherlock again.) who did her best to assume the role of someone who didn’t care that their party date ditched her. Sherlock didn’t see why she had dragged him with anyway, she was a group costume with Molly, and some guy that Sherlock didn’t even see in his time at the actual party.  
They were walking back to the Applegate dorms, Irene had taken off her shoes and was doing her best to avoid the day old puddles on the sidewalk. “I’m glad you came at least, even if you didn’t even stick around long enough to meet Molly’s friend. He was the dad for our family costume you know.”  
Sherlock looked at Irene’s navy pencil skirt and fitted jacket. “Is that what you were? I thought you were a flight attendant.”  
Irene nudged his arm with her shoulder, narrowly avoiding a mud puddle. “No. I was the mother, John was the Dad, and Molly was our daughter. We never really even saw John though, so it was a bit of a waste.”  
“Well I’m sure your costume was great.”  
“It was.”

 

The next time that John saw the deerstalker man, he was actually, without his hat. He and Molly’s not-girlfriend Irene were in getting coffee while John was on duty. He smiled at the pair as they walked up. “Hello, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you?”  
Tall dark and handsome smirked at John, and then at Irene. “Actually, I won’t be purchasing anything. Irene, you know what I like.” He then grabbed a handful of stir-sticks and strutted off to sit at a corner table.  
John looked to the now empty metal cylinder of stir sticks. “You know, I know it doesn’t say it implicitly, but usually, you just take one.”  
Irene smiled apologetically, “Sorry, he’ll take a dark roast, black, and I’ll have a caramel latte.”  
John rung her up and fished out a new stack of cups to begin making their drinks. He wrote Irene’s name on the latte, and then realized that he still didn’t know the name of the string bean in the dramatic coat. John shrugged and uncapped his sharpie, if he wrote Sherlock Holmes, he was sure that the not-quite-a-stranger would understand what he meant. He poured and set them on the call counter for pick up. Irene grabbed both of them and made a face when she saw the one he had labeled “Sherlock”.  
John was quick to explain. “We’ve, ah, met before. He’ll get it.”  
Irene gave him a look that was almost more confused and silently took the drinks to where “Sherlock” was building what looked like a crime scene mock up out of the stolen sticks.  
John shook his head, before when he’d been in the same “trying to ditch the party” situation as the guy, he hadn’t seemed odd at all really, (amazingly attractive and incredibly smart sure, but not weird) but here he was in the middle of Starbucks building tiny people from balsa wood. John waited tensely for handsome man #1 to receive his drink. He noticed the look of surprise on his face as he saw what name was written out, and then further surprise when he pushed down the cup sleeve and saw John’s number written below. The man looked up to try to meet John’s eye, but he ducked behind the espresso machine. God that hair would be the death of him. 

 

Sherlock had acquired quite a few phone numbers since he hit puberty. It had done him good, and he knew he was fairly attractive, but somehow, this didn’t seem quite the speed of the blonde now cleaning an espresso machine with far too much vigor. This one, Sherlock decided, was worth keeping. He knew Irene was watching as he pulled out his phone and programmed it in before remembering that he didn’t know sweater boy’s name. Sherlock faltered for a minute, before typing in “John Watson” and hitting save. Irene was still looking at him.  
“Go ahead.” Sherlock started. “I know you have something to say.”  
“Oh I don’t know hot stuff, maybe I should let you explain yourself first.”  
“We met at that halloween party.” Sherlock began to try to compose an opening message. “He was the guy who ended up reading with me.”  
“Okay,” Irene looked over his shoulder. “And that warrants his full name in your phone. I’m not even sure you know my last name.”  
“Of course I don’t know your last name, it’s completely useless information. For a first name like John however…” Sherlock didn’t even bother to explain that he wasn’t sure that was the guy’s actual name. It would be tiring to try to explain it to Irene.  
“Uh huh. Sure.”  
“Irene I am cognizant of the fact that I am not well known for reading social situations,” Sherlock huffed as another one of his stick people fell. “but I am aware of the sarcastic method with which you seen to be humoring me.”  
“That’s nice Sherlock, but have you considered that he’s into you too.”  
The tall man stiffened and squinted at Irene with intensity he usually reserved for professors who’d given him less than stellar marks. “I am not ‘into’ anyone Irene, and I would appreciate it if you kept yourself out of my business.”  
“Whatever prima donna.” Irene rolled her eyes but the bell on the door was already ringing to announce his exit.

 

Behind the counter John was trying to take deep breaths behind the espresso machine. Tall Dark and Handsome had seen his number and put it in his phone, but also stormed out, and John couldn’t help but think it was his fault. He was still counting breaths in by seven when Molly returned from her break. Upon seeing his labored breath she was instantly at his side.  
“John, good god are you okay?”  
John was starting to feel like he might be overreacting, “I’m okay. That guy from the party was just here and I had forgotten he was so-” he cut himself off mid-sentence.  
Molly looked out over the shop and waved at Irene, and took in the crime scene modeled from stir sticks before turning back to John. “Was he with Irene then?”  
John nodded, “How did you-”  
Molly rolled her eyes “That’s Sherlock.”  
John looked at her in surprise, “Yeah, for halloween- He was the bloke dressed up- With the deerstalker- The other one reading with me-” he couldn’t seem to get out a full sentence.  
Molly didn’t look surprised. “He’s always like that, I hope he didn’t say anything too abrasive. Sherlock can be a bit… rude.”  
This took a moment to sink into what John’s mother lovingly referred to as his concrete skull, but he blinked and raised his eyebrows at Molly. “His name is actually Sherlock?”  
Molly was suddenly smiling, “You didn’t know?” great now she was laughing at him. “His mom named him after those old stories. People say she married Siger Holmes just for his last name.”  
John rubbed his face with his hands. “Are you fucking kidding me, Molly I introduced myself at the halloween party while he was dressed up, as John Watson.” He angrily ruffled his own hair. “God, he must think that was such a line.”  
Molly was really giggling now.  
“Molly, it’s not funny, seriously, come on.”  
“Sorry, just yeah it is.” She took in his conflicted appearance. “Oh, come on John, it’s not that big of a deal.”  
“Oh gee, Molly. Just made a huge cad of myself in front of the hottest guy I’ve ever met and you know,” he shrugged mockingly “no biggie.”  
“John, it’s fine. I know him. You can talk to him after work.”  
“And say what, hey, sorry that I came on to you at a party, it was kind of a joke but also we’re a literary pair for the ages.”  
“John.”  
“Molly.”  
“I totally called that you weren’t straight, Irene owes me ten.”  
“Molly.”

 

After leaving Irene in the coffee shop Sherlock experienced what his mother would have called a “come to Jesus” moment, in which he was forced to face the facts. The first epiphany was that this sweater wearing man was essentially the most attractive person Sherlock had ever laid eyes on. Second, he might be kind of a jerk. This was hard to confirm, between his rather shocking introduction at the party and the cocky display on the cafe earlier, he was hard to get a read on. Had Sherlock been a different person and more sure of his people skills, he would have texted John(?) right away, even knowing that he was currently at work, instead he texted the detective whose number he had pinched, letting slip the name of the thief in a recent string of robberies.  
It had taken a lot of quick thinking for John to dissuade Molly out of accompanying him to Sherlock’s dorm. She had wanted to witness first hand the shock the she predicted for the man. He had finally convinced her by saying he wouldn’t be going at all if he couldn’t go alone. This of course had been a bluff, and Molly seemed to know it, but she had let him go unaccompanied anyway.

Upon arriving at Sherlock’s door, John found himself frozen, caught between running away and knocking when a voice came from inside. “Come in if you must, but it if this is about a case, I’m rather busy.”  
Hearing this, John did open the door, surprised to find Sherlock laying in bed the short way, head off the mattress and feet up on the wall.  
Sherlock seemed just as surprised to see him, judging by his stuttered “Oh hello” and act of quickly restoring himself to sit cross legged upright. “How can I help you…” He trailed off as if expecting the other man to fill in his name.  
“John Watson.” John said hoping to sound serious.  
Sherlock was nonplussed. “If you’re just here to poke fun, I ask that you see yourself to the door.”  
John huffed in a way that he could only assume was unattractive. “I’m really not kidding.” When Sherlock pursed his lips he kept going. “I introduced myself at the party that way because I thought you were just dressed as Sherlock Holmes, then I was talking to Molly, who I guess knows you, and she says that you’re actually named after the guy and I realized how much of a wanker I came off as, and then she laughed at me, and I had to make sure that you knew I wasn’t just some weirdo coming on to you at a party.” John paused to breathe, “anyway, I’m John Watson and you’re Sherlock Holmes, isn’t that funny.” he took in Sherlock’s steepled fingers and grit his teeth, “err, so yeah, bye then.” John turned to leave.  
“Wait-” Sherlock stood up and John was dwarfed by the man at full height, “you don’t have to leave, I mean, at the party I assumed you were just some guy with terrible pick up lines but, if you really are John Watson-” Sherlock cut himself off, not quite believing the situation. “I suppose we have some catching up to do.”  
John grinned. “Yeah?”

Sherlock smirked back. “Right where we left off I suppose.”

**Author's Note:**

> The end is terrible and I hate myself whatever.


End file.
